


Revolution

by BaxterBinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaxterBinx/pseuds/BaxterBinx
Summary: As Hermione works within the Ministry to rebuild Wizarding Britain Shacklebolt changes her life in the course of one meeting. Assigned to a new Department she is enrolled in a trial class that is testing the new, "safe" way magic will be taught and learned. Pushing through her studies she is surrounded by both friend and foe, although she soon finds an unlikely partnership and the Two Headed movement becomes bolder with each attack.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy





	Revolution

Ch1. The Meeting

Hermione walked briskly under the scorching July sun, her quick pace creating the slightest breeze that tickled her nose and cheeks as she hurried along the sidewalk. Crowds of people rushed around her in a similar manor, each person with their own agenda and plans to attend to consuming them, effectively blocking out their surroundings. Hermione’s flattering pencil skirt was hindering her usually sweeping strides, and the inconvenience was quickly wearing on her nerves. Her brain was already engulfed in a flurry of thoughts, possibilities, and calculations as she prepared herself for her meeting with Shacklebolt. She didn’t need her cloths to add even the most minor of annoyance. 

She didn’t want to wear the fitting garment in the first place; however, Ginny had suggested she trade in her usual professional slacks, practical button up shirts, and sensible black flats for a more polished look for today. So now as she shuffled her way to a marked telephone booth Hermione felt not only the hinderance of her skirt, but also the uncomfortable tightness of her freshly ironed shirt which she had subtly tucked into her skirt, despite Ginny’s fear of an unsightly bulge. Unlike her usual shirts this fresh, white button up was form fitting, an attribute she wasn’t particularly fond of. It’s not that Hermione minded the crisp, attractive look, she just had too many other things to worry about concerning her job in the Ministry than the potential office gossip her curves may inspire. So, she hadn’t bothered updating her wardrobe much between the minimal time of Voldemort’s death and the rebuilding of Wizard Britain. Though she was admittedly happy for the excuse to spoil herself with the new cloths. 

The polished heels, however, were not a welcomed adjustment, and she had already planned to shove them into the back of her closet the second she returned to her flat. She didn’t care how nice they made her ass look, or the enjoyable sounds of her footsteps bouncing off the floor. Her aching toes were far more compelling. 

Hermione was finally at an acceptable booth, and quickly scurried in, closing the door behind her with a small huff. She quickly eyed the practically empty street around her and was silently thankful people seemed to be too consumed in their own lives to notice her. Glancing at the simple watch on her left hand and selecting the hidden button on the roof of the cramped box with her right, she gave a frustrated growl as she realized the time. She was not going to be late to what was potentially the most important meeting since the discovery of Voldemort’s return. 

The telephone booth slowly lowered into the ground, its sluggish pace sending her into further frustrations. She would have to talk to someone in the Department of Transportations about speeding things up. As soon as the box came to a stop she was flying out of it’s glass containments. She needed to stop by her office in order to grab the materials Shacklebolt had requested everyone to bring, and she was not going to let the lazy ride stain her impeccable attendance record. Easily breezing past everyone Hermione filed into an elevator with far too many people, grabbed the handhold above her, and felt her stomach lurch as they flew backwards. Even though she had only held her position within the Ministry for a little over a year, she quickly fell into a comfortable routine, mastering the ways of the cramped hallways and never-ending mountains of paperwork. But the elevator still made her a bit queasy, and she assumed it would probably continue to do so until the day she died. 

They came to a halt as suddenly as they had begun moving in the first place, and the gates opened allowing a few people to spill into the main lobby area. Hermione was one of those people, and as soon as she had her space again she continued scurrying to her office. She worked under the Department of Reconstruction in the division of Educational Institution Support. Though the infamous battle had taken place at Hogwarts the entire wizarding world felt the overwhelming impacts from the war. Other magic schools and institutions were no different. So, Hermione was part of a fairly large task force in charge of assisting these schools in their recovery. The Ministry had tried to push as many freshly graduated people into the task force as possible, stating that they were best for the job because they could relate to returning students far better than some forty year old man who hadn’t even seen a school-desk in years. 

Walking down the seemingly endless corridor Hermione finally made it to her own small office. In truth most would consider it to just be a glorified closet, but she was grateful all the same. She rushed into the windowless room, flicking a light switch quickly as the door drifted shut. She had somehow managed to shove a full desk, filing cabinet, and a nicely sized bookshelf into her cramped quarters, but she didn’t mind the slightly suffocating layout. She was just happy she didn’t need to find a way to incorporate a desktop setup along with everything else, even though she did miss some of the conveniences the muggle invention offered. She did get sick of typing everything on a charmed typewriter, but she had managed to put enough spells on the thing it basically functioned as a standard Word document anyway. 

Without hesitation she sat in her petite desk chair, her back basically pressed against the wall as she began digging in one of her draws for her favorite pens and notepad. Many times when an old classmate would stop by to deliver reports or talk about current projects they would suggest she put the desk against the wall instead of the chair. But each time she would shrug them off without concern. Though she had adjusted well to her new life the war was still impossibly intertwined in her very being. Just last year she had been on the run with Harry and Ron as they struggled to find every horcrux. Just last year she had recited protective wards and charms around their camps so many times she began muttering them whenever she was particularly stressed. Just last year she had lost too many friends, students, and family to even begin to comprehend the overwhelming numbers without her heart throbbing in uncoolable pain. 

Turning her back to the only entrance and exit was just not something she was comfortable doing yet. 

Finally finding her needed tools she slid the draw shut and bounded out of the small room, once again flicking the light switch behind her.   
She felt a small bit of relief when she suddenly realized she wasn’t the only one bustling around the hallway like a pixie with a missing wing. All around her people were scrambling to do whatever they needed to do before the all-important meeting. Although she didn’t know the specifics, she knew that practically everyone in her division was going to be there. She assumed only a handful of particularly successful workers would be left out of the sudden festivities. 

Having returned to the elevator the button for the large auditorium had already been pressed, so she barely had time to frantically claw onto the support handle before they were zooming off. Thank God she put her hair into a simple twist this morning otherwise she was sure she’d be arriving with an impressive owl’s nest. 

Because of the size of the room the elevator actually had a stop on the far side of the auditorium next to the traditional door, allowing everyone to walk directly from the elevator to their seats. Hermione barely spared a glance at the impressive grandeur of it all, instead opting to walk into the 15th row facing the podium. Whatever this meeting was about she wanted to be front and center for all of it, vigilantly scribbling everything in her personal color system. She chose the 15th row simply because it was the exact middle. Too high and she wouldn’t be able to catch small details, but too low she would be stuck looking up Shacklebolt’s nose the entire time. Placing her notepad and fabric pencil case on the small desk levitating above her lap she once again glanced down to her watch. 

1:22. 

“Damn. Nearly perfect.” She muttered. 

She prided herself on always being ten minutes early, regardless of the type of meeting. Another enforced habit from both school and the war. With a soft sigh she finally allowed herself to relax a little, slowly loosening her shoulders, enjoying the release of tension in both her back and neck as she stretched. She allowed herself to slouch just enough so she didn’t feel her shirt tugging stubbornly, the rigid fabric unwilling to stretch as she sat on its tucked tails. Her skirt was a modest, fashionable knee cut with a small slit in the back, supposedly to allow her to walk, but when she sat she hadn’t realized it’d risen a tad more than she was comfortable with. She took to soothing it down, her attention entirely engrossed in correcting her discomfort. 

“Hey Hermione, alright if I take this seat?” 

Hermione’s head snapped up as her wand flawlessly slid out of her charmed sleeve and into her hand as she twisted to the left. Her eyes were wide, her breath stuck at the back of her throat, and her wand now held at the ready without her even thinking about it. However, it quickly fell limp onto her desk as she quickly took in the grinning man next to her.   
“Merlin’s beard Neville! Don’t sneak up on people like that! I could have hexed you straight to St. Mungo’s!” She screeched, her embarrassment already creeping into her cheeks as she felt herself begin to flush. 

Neville, for his credit, just chuckled and nodded as he made himself comfortable in his chair. He had grown into his charmingly large ears, wide eyes, and button nose. He was even featured in a few issues of, “Hogwarts Hunks”, a popular page in the Daily Prophet created by none other than Pansy Parkinson. Fans particularly fawned over his strong jaw and just-toothy-enough smile. She didn’t know how he did it, but even she fell under his spell, and couldn’t help but smile in return regardless of how foul her mood was. She always knew he had a hidden bravery no one could rival, but it took his heroic actions during the final battle for everyone else to finally see it too. Now a year later he had gained immense respect from the British wizarding community, and was well known as one of the Ministries best Aurors. 

He was credited for the capture of the famed Igor Karkaroff. Once the Ministry regained some semblance of order it’s first priority was hunting down the last of Voldemort’s fanatics. Neville had been on the Elite team of Aurors assigned to Igor’s case, and it was Neville who eventually discovered the underground Death Eater training camp being run by the corrupt headmaster. Of course George, Harry, Ron, and Seamus were irreplaceable, but they also agreed that Neville was the one who made most of the major breakthroughs for the case. 

Through all his achievements Neville still stayed the same though; Humble, selfless, and kind. And Hermione respected him greatly for it. 

Looking around the rapidly filling room she suddenly noticed which specific divisions of which departments had been called to attend. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Beast Division, Spirit Division, and Being Division were modestly in attendance. Hermione was disappointed not to see any members of the Division of House-Elf Relocation. She had petitioned them several times to consider S.P.E.W., but each time she had been told with an apologetic grimace that the department simply didn’t have the time to take on such an avant-garde idea. And each time she waited a month before resubmitting her paperwork. 

Present were also members of the Department of Magical Education: Committee for Curriculum Evaluation, Division for Magical Tools and Learning Necessities, and the Office for Student Enrollment Enforcement. However, as Hermione heard the room shush in that awkward way rooms do when a crowd is preparing for an event to start, she was most taken aback with how many members from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were sitting quietly in their seats. They stuck out among the crowd due to their badges pinned on their left side, the metal enchanted to protect against a multitude of low-level curses. Their Ministry issued uniforms were designed to keep members in the background, skimmed over by the average person going about their busy day through the endless halls and offices. Hermione guessed the cloths were also charmed, but no one had ever confirmed her suspicions. Because of this intentionally illusive façade she couldn’t tell which specific divisions were present, though if she were able to get a closer look at their badges the wearers division and position were clearly engraved in the silver metal. 

Focusing her attention on the podium she saw Shacklebolt pulling a nightmarishly thick stack of papers out of his clearly enchanted briefcase, and Hermione felt the room tense. They all knew this meeting would most likely contain an immense amount of information, therefore dragging on well into the afternoon. But as they heard the echoing crinkles and fluttering pages of a second stack they all knew they had never attended a meeting of this magnitude before. 

With the gruesome stacks of papers ominously framing his bold stature, Shacklebolt took in a few deep breaths, straightened his spine, and began speaking.

“Hello everyone! I want to begin this meeting by thanking all of you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here. However, I’m afraid the magnitude and length of this meeting were not explained in-full through the paper notice, therefor I have decided we will take two half-hour breaks throughout the night where I have asked our Potions Division to prepare a vial of Bottled Sleep for each of you. More vials shall be provided as needed after the first break.” 

Hermine heard Neville let out an annoyed huff. She had her fair share of Bottled Sleep fueled studying sessions during her fourth year in particular, and she couldn’t hide her grimace as she remembered their horrible effects. While they did keep her awake and mostly alert for 4 hours per vial, once the potion was through her system she felt the excruciating fatigue of not actually sleeping set in. Everyone who had taken a Basic Potions and Their Uses class knew Bottled Sleep wasn’t a viable sleep replacement, but rather a clever way to stave off exhaustion. And they all knew they’d rather just secretly catch a wink of sleep than listen to every word of the meeting.

“I also regret to inform you that due to the sensitive information we will be discussing tonight you will not be permitted to leave this room until this meetings conclusion.”   
Now there were audible groans and gasps. People began whispering amongst themselves with words like, “insane”, “impossible”, and even “lunacy” standing out. But judging the grim look on Shacklebolt’s face it was clear he was in agreement with everyone’s horror. 

“I know. This is far from ideal, and I promise your time will be compensated, but we need to move on now or else we’ll be here for weeks.” 

The whispers dissolved and the room was once again silent, only this time the sense of unease was impossible to ignore. 

“Let me begin by recapping our time after the Battle of Hogwarts, which is widely recognized as the day we won the war. I know parts of this lecture will be redundant at times, but I feel it is best to review everything in full in order to inform those outside of your specific department of the Ministries progress. I advise you to take adequate notes during this time so we can avoid confusion later in the night. I also advise that I have taken great effort and consideration to keep this portion of our time together short and concise. Therefor I expect you to put in the same studious attention as blatant questions will be ignored once we move on. Understood?” 

Hermione was a tad shocked at his lecture hall attitude, mindlessly bobbing her head up and down like everyone else in the room. She quickly opened her notebook and grabbed her favorite black pen, hand at the ready as everyone else produced quills and ink. She didn’t care what anyone else thought about her “strange” habit of using muggle pens. They were simply a better alternative to the messy pots of ink she had grown accustomed to in Hogwarts. 

“Alright. 3 May, 1998. Voldemort’s death is widely reported in the Daily Prophet, and I took over as temporary Minister of Magic. 25 May I am elected as official Minister of Magic, and begin organizing efforts for stabilizing Wizarding Britain, as well as lending support to the Wizarding World overall. 26 May, A new Department is created; the Department of Reconstruction. The purpose of this department is to have a specific branch of the Ministry designated to Post War situations in order to prevent our other departments from being overwhelmed by the sudden increase of problems, questions, and reports. 1 June, Department of Education submits petition to postpone the upcoming school year in order to continue reorganization and further Death Eater prosecution. 5 June, The Council approves the Department of Educations petition, and students are informed of the decision. Public response was predominantly supportive.” 

Hermione feverishly scribbled the dates down, a bit surprised by how quickly Shacklebolt was moving. She already knew all these things, but her past experiences lead her to write everything down anyway for quick reference. It also kept her from wondering just where this meeting was going to lead. Why did he start the review so far back? Why did he want them all to remember these dates specifically? What was this whole lecture leading up to? Instead of trying to articulate answers to her many questions, Hermione put all her effort into making sure she didn’t smear her notes, and all her focus into Shacklebolt’s deep voice. 

“19 August. Information about Igor Karkaroff and his death eater academy emerge. 25 October, Igor is captured and interrogated. He provides information on Jugson, Nott Sr., Rabastian Lestrange, Selwyn, Throfin Rowle, and Goyle Sr. 27 October, Mr. Karkaroff is sentenced to life imprisonment in Perditus Fides. Location of this prison is confidential information, and is not necessary to our purpose today. The following three months were productive without major incidences. 13 February 1999, Gregory Goyle is suspected in the arson of the Durmstrang Institute quidditch pitch. It is suspected he along with several low-level death eaters perpetrated this attack as a form of retaliation for Mr. Karkaroff’s testimony. An unidentified symbol of a two headed snake was left at the scene, and has since been popping up in similar incidents. We will discuss this in more detail later in the meeting, so do not be concerned with any questions you may have right now. 

29 April Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe were sighted near the Beaxbatons Academy of Magic, but were able to allude auror’s and the Academy’s guards. 2 May the two struck at the gardens which caused an intense fire to rapidly spread along the west side of the school. Twenty-four students and one professor were caught in the flames, but luckily no one sustained any serious injuries. Again, the image of a two headed snake was left behind. 18 May London muggle reports of crime have now doubled, and the Ministry was asked to launch our own investigation. 7 June official reports stated the remaining active death eaters were the primary cause of the muggle increase of crimes. At this point it was also reported muggles were being targeted for an unknown purpose by this post-Voldemort group. 23 June the first muggle death at the hands of these death eaters was reported in London newspapers.” 

There were a few gasps. Hermione rolled her eyes in disappointment. She wasn’t surprised that the death of eighty-five-year-old Victoria Pardnum wasn’t widely reported through the Central Department, but she was still upset. Even after the war most wizards still ignored what happened in the muggle world. Perhaps it wasn’t out of disgust, but ignorance was no better an excuse in Hermione’s eyes. She first heard of the death from her own newspaper where the poor old woman’s portrait made the front page. It was a baffling crime due to the lack of evidence. No motive, no forensics, and no apparent cause of death. Of course it was obvious to enlightened muggle authorities that this was a wizards work, but what was the rest of muggle London supposed to think? For the following weeks Hermione heard muggles discussing their own theories, their fear blatantly visible in their wide eyes as she ran her errands around the city. Even now four weeks later she still caught snippets of conversations in crowded cafes. The Ministry had only informed her of the death with a bland report a few days after the actual killing, and even then it infuriatingly left out Victoria’s name. Judging from the gasps and shocked faces Hermione realized not all departments, or at least not all the divisions within said departments, had been notified. 

Shacklebolt gave an apologetic sigh as he continued. 

“I know this news is surprising for some of you. I’m sorry not all of you received a report, but I felt it was best not to cause unnecessary distractions in certain departments. 6 July three more muggle deaths were attributed to the criminal organizations, and a name was officially assigned to the group. Henceforth we shall discuss this organization as the Two Headed Movement. 18 July one more death was confirmed. That brings us up to date. This concludes the review portion of our meeting, and the first half hour break is now in effect. If you feel a need to use the restroom a designated auror will assist you to the toilets. Each auror is only permitted to accompany one person at a time. Bottled Sleep potions are available upon Accio request. This is the only time contact with people outside this auditorium via provided letter will be permitted, and Ministry owls are at your disposal. Please be prepared to continue this meeting at five o’clock sharp. Thank you.” 

And with that Shacklebolt left the podium accompanied by two people Hermione didn’t recognize. They walked through the door leading to a separate, private room under a section of seating, the door dissolving behind them while people began milling about, a line quickly forming for the restrooms. She placed her pen on her notebook then stood up, her desk moving to the right to accommodate her. 

“Bloody hell. I thought I left all this behind after Hogwarts.” Neville muttered as he stretched his back. 

Hermione just nodded in agreement while she rolled her shoulders, her neck muscles tense. After a few rotations she faced Neville who was also standing. However, his eyes were trained on the row of owls waiting patiently to receive a letter. But his gaze was intense, his brow furrowed, and a thin frown stretched across his lips. Moving closer to him, Hermione tried to replicate his stance so she could see what he was staring at. Much like the line to the loo there was already an ungodly amount of people holding small, cream cards waiting for access to a bird. As she scanned the sea of people her gaze snagged sharply on the reason for Neville’s scowl. 

Quietly directing the owl before placing the sealed envelope in its beak was none other than Draco Malfoy, his platinum hair combed neatly instead of slicked back against his head, though it still glistened with product. He was wearing a simple black suit with an evergreen tie and pocket square barely visible amongst the dark color. His translucent skin practically glowed in comparison to the gloomy attire, making his blank face seem sickly. From this distance she couldn’t see his shoes, though Hermione guessed they’d be polished into oblivion and reek with superiority. As the owl took flight he was already walking away before a new creature took its place. Hermione followed him as he ascended a set of stairs along the north side of the room, opposite her. He climbed until he reached the 20th row, where he promptly sat on the last seat closest to the isle. He flicked his wand with a bored expression, a vial of Bottled Sleep speeding towards him. 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Neville hissed, still glowering at the Slytherin graduate. 

“I don’t know.” Hermione mumbled, lost in thought as she tried to answer the same question. “Do you know what department he’s in?” 

“Blaise said he was working in the department of Magical Law Enforcement. Said he was in the Misuse of Magic Office. Go figure.” Neville replied with a snort. Hermione echoed his sentiment with her own indignant huff.

“Him? In the Misuse of Magic Office? After all the magic laws he and his family broke in the war? Who the hell let that through!?” She seethed. 

No one in the Britain Wizarding World didn’t know about the infamous Malfoy family; Their loyalty to the dark arts dating back several generations. Even those who weren’t closely entwined with Voldemort knew they were amongst his greatest supporters. They also knew Lucius was sitting in Azkaban, rotting into his cell for all his troubles. The courts showed him no mercy at his trial, and the Ministry wasn’t afraid to make an example with his deranged mug shot on the front page in the Daily Prophet. Everyone knew he was a warning to the remaining, free death eaters. A promise that the aurors were closing in and that escaping their war crimes was impossible. So the fact that his son, a registered death eater in his own right no less, was part of the office dealing with people like him was more than a bit infuriating to Hermione. 

“Actually,” Neville began, his voice losing the harsh edge from his previous statement, “Shacklebolt appointed him personally. We were building an investigation on him when Shacklebolt suddenly told us to scrap it.” 

Hermione snapped her head so she could face Neville head on. He couldn’t be serious! She was about to demand more information when her attention was pulled away by a loud crash followed by a shrill scream. She and Neville both had their wands out as they instinctively zeroed in on the source of the noise. 

A lanky woman in a blue dress and towering heals stood in a mess of glass and liquid on the 4th row along the west wall. She was dripping with both humiliation and what Hermione quickly realized was Bottled Sleep. Sighing, she slipped her wand back into her enchanted sleeve. She watched as five ministry janitors swarmed her, annoyance oozing from their agitated wand work. She could here the woman crying, blabbering about how she wasn’t sure her Accio spell had worked, so she used it several times. The janitors either didn’t hear her or they didn’t care as four of them took to cleaning her mess, while the fifth worked on drying her off with his wand and several charmed towels.   
Snapping her eyes back up to Draco, Hermione saw he hadn’t even turned his head towards the sudden outburst. Instead he was still sitting at his desk, the same boredom evident in his muted blue eyes. 

Before Hermione could return to her interrogation with Neville Shacklebolt exited through the newly appeared door, the same men filing into the first row as the Minister approached his podium. Grumbling, Hermione sat down and reopened her notebook, quickly scribbling a note about finding out more after the meeting was over.   
“Alright, let us resume. Now that our recap is over, I’ll get to the point of this meeting; Revolution.” 

He paused either for dramatic effect, for the confused expressions, or both. 

“As you all know, Wizarding Britain has been through possibly the worst war since the Ministry was created. We lost countless lives, both wizarding and muggle. We have suffered structural damaged we will still be recovering from for years to come. There has been an irreversible upset between man and magical beast, as well as man and magical landscape. Friends have turned to enemies. Families have been irrevocably destroyed. To think that we as the Ministry, and that we as people can just go back to the way things used to be done is nothing but foolish. To believe that implementing a new department is enough to deal with all the fallout is delusional. To assume changing a few things, introducing better restrictions, and adding laws can prevent a similar situation in the future is simply naive. In order to prevent anything like this from happening again we as a culture must rethink the way we learn, utilize, and embrace magic. We must go past renovation into revolution.” 

He stopped, his eyes wide and skin flushing with passion. Though his words were calm his conviction was clear. Everyone had their faces in their notes, though the once tense air had silently shifted into one of confusion and anticipation.

“So, as of today, all of you will now be transferred to the newest department of the Ministry; the Department of Revolution.” 

The outburst was instantaneous. Suddenly the room went from deathly silent to unbridled bewilderment. People were standing and shouting questions while others were sitting spell shock in their seats. Hermione herself was still trying to comprehend what he had just said. A new department. Revolutionizing the way they do magic. Turning away from the way things have been done for centuries. Her mind bubbled over with thoughts as it desperately tried to maintain some semblance of sense and understanding. 

“Please, I will explain!” Shacklebolt suddenly thundered, his voice charmed so it roared over the outburst. “I did not make this decision lightly, and have spent my entire time as Minister planning and executing everything to put this plan into action. Trust me when I tell you everything has been thought through, and is supported by fact and experience!”   
The room was still quiet as people skeptically settled back into their seats. Their unease weas still apparent, but their anxiety had been quelled for the moment. Shacklebolt nodded in approval before regaining his composure. 

“Now, let me continue onto the specifics of this new department.” 

His voice was no longer charmed, though it still resonated through the room. Hermione was on the edge of her seat, pen at the ready as she waited for him to continue. 

“There are three hundred of you in this room right now, and while some of you will be asked to make extreme changes, many of you will still feel familiar and confident in your new roles. I can assure you that I have placed each and everyone of you in an exact position with your interests held above those of the Ministry, and if at any time you wish to withdraw from your position, and even from the department itself, you will be moved with minimal questions asked. Are we all clear on these facts?” 

Some nodded while others voiced various forms of, “yes.” Shacklebolt eyed them all, slowly turning so he could see each of them face to face, before taking a deep breath and continuing. 

“Good. Now, as I’m sure some of you are aware, your old positions within the Ministry were either highly selective, dealt with sensitive information, or were so unique that you feel you cannot abandon it. While you will receive details concerning your new situations via letter this Saturday, know that you will most likely be doing the same work, just in a slightly different context.” 

It was impossible to ignore the sighs of relief drifting through the room. Neville seemed especially grateful for the upfront clarification, but Hermione was still on edge. Her position in her low-level job wasn’t exactly irreplaceable, so what had she been thrown into? 

“Onto addressing the broader questions before you all bombard my staff and I with letters. What precisely is this new department, and why have I chosen you specifically?” He paused, taking a deep breath as he grabbed his first mountain of papers. “If I were you, I would begin a separate section in your notes for this next portion of my lecture. Also, to clarify to those of you who…haven’t been students for some time…I shall answer the first question first.” 

Hermione couldn’t suppress her small smile as she continued writing. It was clear the meeting was beginning to wear down on Shacklebolt, and he was transitioning into his less formal self. He was slowly turning from proper Minister Shacklebolt to Kingsley, the man who had his fair share of shenanigans with Dumbledore, and had kicked major ass in the Battle of Hogwarts. Though she respected his professional side, Hermione couldn’t deny she liked his natural self better. 

“How do you suppose witches and wizards survived in the Stone Age? In that time the muggle and magical worlds weren’t too different since everyone was focused on surviving. How did magic happen with wands, potions, charms, and curses in their infancy? And when available they had to be hand crafted and passed down through generations. How were wizards and witches supposed to combine and pass on their magical knowledge? In the minimal records available to us we know some families combined into small villages that all shared magical tools and texts, however once again much like muggle history knowledge and traditions were lost through oral translation. So how did we get to where we are today? 

Because of these murky beginnings the Bronze Age is credited with magic’s official recognition and organization. Cauldrons, brooms, and books became more reliable. People were beginning to differentiate between charms and curses, and the laws surrounding them were becoming more concrete. Already existing groups were able to communicate with each other, and knowledge was beginning to flow. Perhaps the largest success in the Bronze Age though was the utilization of experimentation. With a way to record their outcomes, and for some to even share their result, witches and wizards began building off each other’s discoveries to reach the grandeur heights we know today. 

This progression continued to wax and wane through time with a few notable accomplishments, though I’ll leave those details to your history professors. For our purposes the next period we’ll jump to is the Age of Revolution. It was at this time the Ministry of Magic was founded. Before this magic had transformed into a taught talent, with many schools coming and going through the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, and the Scientific periods. With muggle society changing and fine-tuning their olden ways Wizarding Britain followed along. Curriculums were revised and regulated. Wands were registered and sold for profit. Quidditch was quickly developing into a shard magical phenomenon between the richest and poorest. At this point in time the way we do magic was firmly and definitively decided, and we have continued to abide by these roots to this very day.”   
Kingsley stopped. As people continued to scrawl frantically, he lifted his wand and began flicking his first mountain of pages into the air behind him. Hermione was finished and ready for him to continue as she watched each sheet float elegantly. They bobbed lazily in the air as they drifted outwards. It reminded her of the waves at the beach house she, Ron, and Harry had escaped too after fleeing the Malfoy manner. Their hypnotic serenity taunted her, ignorant to the scarred insult in her arm and the deteriorating world around them. Just like Kingsley’s papers those waves were uninterested in her pain and suffering, instead focusing on the rhythmic flow of their own being. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts as Kingsley cleared his throat. Forcing her mind away from the numerous papers that now stretched out to the first row, abandoning the seductive lull of the serene sea. As she focused on the closer document’s realization dawned on her like a cold dementor freezes the air. Staring back at her were the gruesome new paper articles, reports, and stories about murdered muggles and muggle-borns. She was particularly alarmed by the older ones, their age shamelessly evident by their discolored ink and rigid parchment. Hermione felt her stomach lurch violently, and she had to fight the shivers racing down her spine. There was just silence. No scratching quills. No clinking ink bottles. Not even a stuffy nose. 

It was just silent. 

“While there were many advancements and achievements up until the Age of Revolution, barbaric practices and beliefs had also been forming and spreading. Like the plague of the middle ages, prejudice and intolerance infected the world. It was during the Renaissance the first openly anti-muggle and anti muggle-born views were reported. The terms, “pure-blood” and its ugly counterpart, “mud-blood” were widely instilled. Through the Enlightenment period muggle-borns were refused into schools, muggles were cursed into slavery, and the most fanatical began crusading towards a “purer” world. The first of the unforgivable curses, the Imperio Curse, was officially criminalized by the Ministry due to the rise in violence and fanaticism. However, Ministry members still fell into their own beliefs, resulting in the first political upset suffered by the Ministry. While muggles fought to dominate one another, wizards warred against each other for the power and control of Wizarding Britain’s future. The Age of Revolution marks the beginning of the worst.   
Wars raged and many offshoots of each ideology were created. There was extremism on both sides of the muggle-born vs. pure-blood argument. Pure-bloods burned muggle towns to ashes, capturing muggle-borns and torturing them for sport, or just making them slaves. In contrast Muggle-borns raided pure-blood houses, slaughtering long lineages of families, not sparing even the youngest lives.”

He paused, allowing the weight of what he was saying to sink in. His eyes were hard, and his hands shook with controlled disgust. Hermione tried to ignore her own rage swelling inside her. It threatened to spill out in a putrid mix of bile and the toast she’d scarfed down for breakfast. She desperately tried to keep her churning stomach from betraying her cool exterior. 

“After years and years of this bloody conflict and struggle the wizarding population had been cut in half. With many devotionists having died, taking their skewed views with them, the remaining people didn’t even know why they were fighting anymore. Thus, the upset within the Ministry was reconciled, and any remaining extremists were shunned out of the broader magical community.” 

As he finished his sentence Kingsley waved the horrific pages back into the tall stack they had originated from. His face was now sullen at the recounting of so much bloodshed, though the fire of his ire nipped at the edges of his words. Undoubtedly he was reliving the recent war, death staining his dark skin with the sharp perfume of copper and smoke. Hermione knew she felt it’s looming presence whenever she allowed herself to become lost in those memories or not. She smelled her hair singe as flames licked at her bare flesh, the heat becoming a constant throb she had learned to ignore as she rushed through the caste. Screams of pain, victory, and pleading reverberated around her as an unending stream of curses tumbled out of her lips. The motions were secondary, the words having lost their meaning months ago. Her fingers were cramped around her wand, the muscles frozen into position out of necessity rather than choice as time went on. At times she couldn’t even distinguish between where her palm ended and where her wand began. She was just fighting. Fighting for herself. For those who have died. For those who were still alive and suffering. Much like those witches in that first war, every cell in her body was just fighting to achieve the balance of equality that seemed so simple yet continuously out of her reach.

Her hand twitched, the pen falling with a soft thud against her notebook. She didn’t know when she’d stopped writing but judging by the anemic paragraph, she assumed it had been around the halfway point of Kingsley’s sermon. Her fingers curled sharply though her wand was still in her sleeve. Though the calluses had faded back into smooth skin her muscles refused to let go of the past. Without hesitation she stiffly used her left hand to pry her right out of its petrified position. The first couple of times this happened she had tried to just shake the memories out, but she was quickly fed up with failure after each attempt that resulted in the assistance of her left hand anyway. 

With her right hand sufficiently loosened she used it to pluck her pen off the pages and she continued her notes. Neville was eyeing her concernedly, however she pretended not to notice. For once she wished she’d kept her hair down so she could hide behind her uncontrollable curls. With the papers back in their stack Kingsley continued on, his tone easing more and more with each sentence. 

“As the Romantic Era set in there was a welcomed calm, but even though the Ministry was rebuilt Wizarding Britain knew things had been permanently changed, and they underwent grand renovations to prevent history from repeating itself. While the war was over the ideas of bigotry and hatred scarred the wizarding community, so it was decided the magical world would henceforth be hidden from the muggle world. While the two had never really worked together, they weren’t completely ignorant of one another, and this lax attitude towards the issue was thought as one of the main reasons the war was able bubble forth in the first place. While he Ministry felt this decision would protect against another war, they also felt it would work to prevent further formation of new extremist groups and thoughts. It was also thought that by separating the two the Ministry no longer needed to worry about how magical issues would affect muggle life. 

So, with its newfound freedom the Ministry was able to create an intricate system that allowed the wizarding world to mature and grow into what it is today without worrying about how the muggle world would react. Even though it took fifty years before the ties between the two worlds were definitively severed, this separate way of life has since remained with only the highest powers of muggle authority knowing about our existence. 

So. What does this have to do with the new department?” Kingsley finished, a small grin playing on his face as he eyed the clear confusion around him. Hermione herself was wondering what all this had to do with the question at hand, though she never doubted Kingsley’s admittedly long lecture. 

With a large smile Kingsley continued on in excitement. 

“The wizarding world hasn’t changed since the fallout of the first war, and while I as Minister cannot discredit the resulting peace due to the decisions of the past Ministry, I can recognize that histories greatest fears have been realized. There has been another war. Creating new laws, regulations, and even segregation was not enough to prevent ancient extreme views from boiling to the wizarding surface once more. In the end abiding by the old rules has resulted in the same results. So, with that lessoned learned, the Department of Revolution was created to completely reimagine how we as wizards approach magic as a whole. With this new department we won’t simply rework what we have been doing since the Stone Age, but we shall create an entirely new system.

Now, with this new department we aren’t completely scorning the world as we know it. The majority of our laws and of the Ministry will operate the same, but be warned there will be change that will be felt by all of Wizarding Britain. And how exactly are we going to achieve that change?” 

Kingsley paused, the excited spark gleaming in his eyes as he let the anticipation of his answer build. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, their eyes wide and quills at the ready to receive the long-awaited answer. Even though it was 9:00 and the beginning hints of fatigue began bearing down on her Hermione was too engrossed in her eagerness to notice. As Kingsley took a deep breath her jaw clenched and her chest tightened they way it always did before going into battle. 

“As of the 1 of June wands will no longer be purchasable, and each practicing witch and wizard will undergo an evaluation to deicide if they are able to keep performing wanded magic. Those who do not pass this evaluation will have their wand confiscated, and will be enrolled in the new Wizarding Institution ran by the Ministry itself; The Wizarding Institution of New Understanding of Magical Practices. Or, for short, W.I.N.U.M.” 

Hermione’s stomach dropped and her pen froze on the page, the black ink staining onto the next page. Her heart raced almost as quickly as her mind as she tried to process what Kingsley had just announced. However, he didn’t give even the slightest pause to allow her to catch up as he enthusiastically continued. 

“Now for the second question, why were all of you chosen specifically? Well, put simply, congratulations! As of this moment you are all enrolled for the first year at W.I.N.UM! Classes begin on the 1 of September. Your schedules shall be included with the explanation of your specific role within the department! This concludes the second part of our meeting and commences the second half-hour break of the night. See you at nine forty-five!”


End file.
